


Street Life

by Mahoroba



Series: Avengers For Dinner [7]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Reader is a Dancer, Reader is from the South, Thor loves coffee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-07 15:17:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8805910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mahoroba/pseuds/Mahoroba
Summary: A chance encounter with some thugs means you spend some one on one time with Thor. Hijinks ensue - and you get a little closer to figuring things out between you, Clint, and Steve.





	1. Ten Cent Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " 'You wield the mightiest of flimsy plastic shoes,' he said, holding out a hand to help you as you put on your flip flop. His hand was warm and steady."
> 
> Oh no Thor.

_How does this shit happen to me_ was what you were thinking as you were in hot pursuit of a mugger. You weren’t even dressed for this – flip flops, raggedy shorts,  an apron so stained you looked like a murderer, and a scraggy tank top living on a prayer. Not to mention the lack of a bra that had your girls going everywhere so  violently you were running with one hand over your bust.  At least the bandana on your head kept your hair out of your eyes. The harder you ran, the angrier you got, so when homeboy was cornered, you were thoroughly heated.

 

“I’m about as mad as a wet hen,” you snapped, “so you best just make this real easy and give the purse back and I won’t beat your ass six ways from Sunday.” Your drawl made you sound all the more sinister, and for a moment, the mugger looked legitimately concerned.

 

At least until his bros showed up.

 

“Looks like the little heroine’s outnumbered. Should’ve thought this through better.” God, if slime could talk; that’s what this guy sounded like. Slime and hot garbage mess filtered through broken glass. You didn’t want to look behind you and let the guy in front of you potentially get the drop on you, but you stole a quick glance over your shoulder. Two behind you, one in front. Three in total. Three against one – not good odds, but not terrible ones. You turned your attention back to the guy in front of you, balling your hands into fists.

 

You couldn’t be sure under the ski mask the mugger was wearing, but you were pretty sure he was smirking at you. Which made you flat out livid. So livid that you couldn’t think straight – and, quick as a flash, you bent down, took off one of your flip flops, and hurled it at him as hard as you could. To your gratification, it landed with a resounding _pop!_ square in the middle of his forehead, causing him to curse and stagger back.

 

“This bitch is crazy!” he whined, grasping the middle of his forehead as he looked up, dropping the purse in his surprise. You heard the two guys behind you advance, and you turned to face them, nostrils flared. Surprise among surprises, they both looked at each other hesitantly (at least it looked that way; they were also wearing masks), before moving to close in on you.

 

“Let’s dance, assholes,” you spat, about ready to take on the Almighty Himself, you were so pissed –

 

Before lighting laced across the sky, and a blur of red landed between you and the muggers. Everything happened so fast that you were left, standing on one foot (because you still had some sense left and this was an alley in New York you weren’t putting your bare foot down no ma’am), and apparently you weren’t the only one, because the mugger behind you hadn’t moved an inch. Now was your chance. Whirling to face him, you channeled your rage, and launched your aura at him, searching until you found the shivering white coil of fear, and yanked on it so hard that he visibly jerked forward, before freezing in place, his eyes wide behind the mask. You’d only pulled enough to get him to stop in his tracks. To him, it’d feel like he’d just saw a poisonous snake; something that would make him stop in his tracks, hesitate a little. As he shook his head, trying to figure out what in the hell just happened, you tackled him, and once he was down, you proceeded to wallop the every loving snot out of him with your plastic flip flop.

 

“Make me chase you down like you ain’t got no sense robbin’ folks in front of my goddamn building you outta be ashamed of yourself!”

 

He was yelping (more in surprise, to be fair) beneath you, squirming, trying to get away, but your thighs held him firmly in place. Growing up with multiple siblings had taught you the quickest way to superiority in a fight was to sit on someone, and with the additional training from Betsy and Logan, this guy wasn’t going to get away until you decided to let him up. Suddenly, he moved to cover his eyes with his hand, and began (or trying to - you were still walloping him too hard) to point at your chest. Really, the fact that he was just so _insistent_ about it was obnoxious as all get out, and you finally stopped.

 

“What? What? What?!” you bellowed, finally stopping.

 

“I believe he is trying to tell you to protect your modesty.” Oh, that voice! You could listen to it all day. Powerful, regal - sonorous. And, apparently, mildly amused.

 

You turned to face the voice, and behind you stood Thor, a coffee cup clasped in his right hand, Mjolnir dangling from his left wrist. 

 

“What ‘modesty’?” you snapped.

 

“Your tit is totally hanging out,” stated the crook beneath you. Your face burned bright red, and you wound up your hand to knock him into next Tuesday. He raised his hands to his face, cowering. “Yooo, I totally tried to tell you, and I ain’t even looking anymore! See!” He gestured to his tightly closed eyes. 

 

Well, you’d give him that one, at least. 

 

Thor ambled closer. The fact that he’d taken out the two other guys and apparently hadn’t set his cup down was pretty impressive. But, you know, prince of Asgard, Avenger. All around storybook prince / badass. 

 

“I have heard of Amazons going into battle bare-breasted,” Thor said, his eyes drifting over your exposed chest. “You would be an equal member among their ranks for your ferocity and your beauty,” his eyes found yours again, twinkling with good humor. You couldn’t even be embarrassed anymore. Tugging the straps of your tank top back over your shoulders, you stood up. The mugger, unsure of what to do, laid there, his hands up. 

 

“I don’t want anymore trouble,” he said, and to his credit, he sounded genuinely contrite. 

 

“Well…good. Good. Great and GOOD. C’est si BON,” you said, resisting the urge to kick him. You pulled the stolen purse off of his shoulder, and shouldered it yourself. “Get. I think having your ass beat by a flip flop is enough to keep you on the straight and narrow. I catch you and your hood rat friends around here again, I’m kicking yer ass all the way down to the police station, you get me?”

 

He nodded - looking at you, then at Thor. Thor fixed him with a cold stare - which was more than enough to send him scurrying off, his friends rapidly following after. It was quiet between the two of you, before Thor walked closer, taking a small sip from his cup.

 

“You wield the mightiest of flimsy plastic shoes,” he said, holding out a hand to help you as you put on your flip flop. His hand was warm and steady. 

 

“Didn’t amazons chop off a boob to shoot better?” You were trying to figure out something with your tank that would keep you from flashing the rest of the neighborhood. You finally managed it into a series of knots and twists that, while exposing your stomach, made sure it was going to hold over your chest.

 

“Mayhaps,” he said, thoughtfully. “All the more the pity. I do doubt that no mortal could withstand that dreadful beauty. Even I find myself enthralled.”

 

Did Thor just compliment your rack?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is still reading this send me a sign. HA.


	2. I still hang around, neither lost nor found

“Okay, this is too surreal, even for me,” you finally said, trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks. Maybe you had put some sort of whammy on the Avengers boys and weren’t fully aware of it. “Why are you even in this neck of the woods?”

 

He held up the coffee cup, his expression brightening. “Mr. Amine’s shop makes the best coffee I have had on Midgard. He is located not far from here. Have you been? He also makes the little pastries, I believe he calls them _fekkas._ ” 

 

You shook your head. Who knew Thor would enjoy something as simple as coffee? Though he was totally right about Mr. Amine. The man made a killer cup of coffee, and a better cup of Moroccan mint tea. You’d gone there more than once when you were looking for a quiet spot to study that wasn’t home and wasn’t the School. 

 

“I have, actually - but that’s like, a few blocks from here.”

 

“Yes - I was on my way back to the Tower and heard a battle. And here I am,” he held out his arms. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was joking with you.

 

Like Dr. Banner ( _Bruce_ , you mentally chided yourself), Thor was something of a mystery. He was never at the Tower when you were, and the man was literal alien royalty. Even at the X-Men mansion, that was a rarity. As such, you weren’t really sure how to treat the guy. Despite Tony’s constant jibs, you knew that Thor wasn’t dumb - just out of touch. Same could be said for a lot of people - but then again, Tony was Tony - asshole with money. 

 

“So, uh, should I like, courtesy or something?” you finally asked, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. “You are a prince.”

 

Thor looked surprised, then he smiled. My god, his smile lines at the corners of his eyes. You melted. Well, not entirely melted. Just a little melted. Candy bar in the glove box on a hot day melted compared to candy bar on the dash of a car that’s pretty much liquid on a hot day melted.

 

“No, fair (your name)! We have broken bread; we are friends now!”

 

You nearly sighed in relief. And ignored the ‘fair’ part. You were not going to add another crush to your pile. And Rogue totally said she had dibs anyway.

 

“Call me ‘Sugarbee,’ then,” you said, walking towards him. It was about high time to be getting out of the alley. “Every one calls me that.”

 

“ ‘Sugarbee,’” he repeated, rolling the nickname around on his tongue. “I am pleased with this nickname! It means you are of a sweet temperament and a kind nature.”

 

“Well, that’s one way of putting it,” you chuckled. You’d never tell him how you actually got the nickname. Some things were better taken to the grave.

 

Outside of the alley,  your apartment building wasn’t even a whole block away. Outside, on the stoop, several of your neighbors had gathered, including Mrs. Jenkins. She was on her way home from church (because she was ALWAYS on her way home from church) when her purse was snatched. Now, as she saw you, and the purse hanging from her shoulders, she broke away from the cluster of people.

 

“Sugarbee! I should beat your ass!”

 

“This is an odd welcome,” Thor mused.

 

“Mrs. Jenkins, please. I’m not about to have thugs snatching purses right outside of where I live.” You handed her her purse. “I’m not sure if they took anything out of it - I just saw ‘em snatch it and started running after them.”

 

“Like a damn fool,” Mrs. Jenkins swore, then she grabbed you in a tight hug. “Thank you, baby.”  Then, as if registering that a giant blonde man was standing next to you, she took a step back, sized you up. Sized Thor up. 

 

“Mmhm,” she hummed, coming to an unspoken conclusion. “Thor?”

 

“Yes, I am. Thor Odinson of Asgard,” he rumbled. 

 

Mrs. Jenkins and the rest of your neighbors all looked at him. Then at you. Then at him again. And seemed to share a collective side-eye before heading back into the apartment, snatches of conversation filtering your way. Mrs. Jenkins gave you one more hug.

 

“Come ‘round here next week; my grand baby Shelia is coming home from school. Would love to see you,” and then she disappeared back into the building. You thought it was cute how she tried to act like she wasn’t looking over your shoulder at Thor. 

 

Watching everyone go back inside, you rubbed your temples. Mrs. Jenkins was the sweetest old lady (if you were on her good side), but had a mouth as big as your home state. In no time she’d be spreading all sorts of rumors about how you were dressed and didn’t you see how she was all next to Thor, girl, I think something is going on with them - 

 

“Hellfire,” you sighed.

 

Thor looked positively perplexed. “Many people react differently to seeing me,” he finally said, thoughtful.

 

“Don’t too much of anything surprise the girls here in this building, lemme tell you.” You flopped down on the stoop, stretching your legs out in front of you. To your surprise, Thor followed suite, taking another sip from his cup. 

 

You knocked your feet together, watching them slip in and out of your flip flops. For some inexplicable reason, you thought Thor would be a chatty Cathy. But he seemed content, sipping his coffee, and watching the occasional “That can’t be Thor just chilling out on the stoop well damn I guess it is but whatevs” reaction from the passers by. 

 

“Anthony tells me that you are a cook of some renown,” he finally said, “though I could have told as much from the pie that I sampled.”

 

_Oh, I got a pie you can sample all right._

 

“Oh, well, thank you!” You were pretty sure you weren’t blushing. Thor was a lot of things, but telepathic was not one of them. And you were pretty sure you hadn't actually said that out loud.

 

“He also said that you are a ‘Tennessee Williams nightmare,’ but I am unfamiliar with this Tennessee Williams, nor how you could be anyone’s nightmare.” As if to soften the blow, he added, “And that you throw a good party.”

 

_That son of a bitch._

 

Thor must have noticed the darkening of your face, for he quickly said, “Anthony truly does speak highly of you. I am regretful that we have not had more of an opportunity to speak. It is quite fortuitous that we have met in such a fashion. I have wanted to know more about you and this ‘South’ place that Anthony seems to hold such mockery towards.”

 

You flushed, genuinely flattered by how _nice_ Thor was. And how curious he was. There was a bright interest in his eyes, and, hell, who could say no to that? 

 

“Well, luck would just so have it that I was actually was in the middle of cooking. You eat?”

 

He smiled, and bolted up. “I would be remiss to let such an opportunity pass me by, even if I have recently supped. Please, it would be my honor to try your victuals.”

 

You silently thanked Jean for teaching Shakespeare with such alacrity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Monday - have a chapter!


	3. A grown up fairy tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to take a minute to give a special shout out to midnight eclipse, shinoko, and alialialialiali. Thank you guys so much for reading and commenting on this beast that literally was started when I was talking about what I'd cook for the Avengers.

What was it with you and giant ass men?

 

Thor, well aware of his size, neatly ambled through the narrow hallways of the apartment, and slipped easily through your door. Since it was the middle of the day, and the weather was mild - enough of a chill in the air to be pleasant-, you had the windows open. You had been sitting on your tiny, tiny patio, watching the world go by when you heard the mugging. 

 

“I’ve got gumbo if you want it - made it about an hour ago. Should still be warm.” Slipping off your shoes, you dug your toes into the plush rug you had at the foot of your bed. With the adrenaline of the mugging wearing off, you felt as if the world had settled back on your shoulders. At least you weren’t getting the shakes - that always sucked. Guess there was honestly too much going on for you to really process what all had happened.

 

“Gumbo?” He stood in the middle of the room, looking around with some interest. He neatly deposited his coffee cup in your recycle bin (you saw! He was earth conscious! How prince like,) and stood, his arms by his side, in the middle of your “bedroom.” 

 

“Yes…” you paused, trying to find a good way to describe it. “A spicy stew, of sorts. Mine has chicken and sausage in it. Bell pepper, onion, garlic, celery, bay leaf. You eat it over rice. Best thing when the weather is starting to turn cold. It’s one of the favorites back at the school, especially when Remy makes it.”

 

“Spicy! Most excellent! Now, tell me of this school!” He neatly ducked his head, avoiding the scarves and drapery across the ceiling, and made his way to your ‘living room,’ stopping for a moment to look curiously at the beaded curtain, then beam brightly at them. You watched him with a minor pang - the last time anyone had been over, in that same spot, was Clint, all those weeks ago. Since your last visit with Bruce, things had been…quiet. At least as far as Avengers things went. The preparations for the dance were in (excuse the bad pun) full swing, and between that and your normal dance classes down at the studio, most times you felt like a stranger in your own home.

 

Also: being at home  reminded you that you were stuck between Steve and Clint, something you’d prefer **_not_** to be reminded of. 

 

“Oh, I’m an adjunct teacher at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. I teach dance, and fill in other subjects from time to time. I also teach dance classes at a few of the studios around town. Most times I’m at ‘Uptown Dance.’ It’s a nice place not too far from here.” 

 

He nodded sagely, sitting down on your rickety couch. To his credit, he settled himself in slowly, as if aware of how old the couch was. You made your way to the kitchen on auto pilot, wondering if you had a bowl big enough for Thor. Or, more realistically, if there was enough food for Thor. 

 

“A dance teacher! I did not know there were such things on Midgard. Friend Banner has mentioned this ‘adjuncting.’ Tell me, do you have a doctorate of dance?”

 

You knew, rationally, that the comment should not have made you self-conscious. But, come on - being compared to Bruce was hardly fair. Focusing on dipping out the gumbo, you watched your reflection in the surface as you searched for the words to answer him.

 

“It works a little differently with dance,” you finally decided, looking up at him with a weak smile. “When it comes to…academia, there are several different paths.” You’d finally decided on the ‘perfect’ Thor bowl - a plastic Halloween bowl that was used to hold candy. It was ridiculous - bright orange with dancing black skeletons on it - but it was one of the biggest bowls you had without looking like a basin. 

 

“It is admirable to make your own way, but difficult. Sugarbee,” and you had to stop yourself from snickering to hear the ridiculous nickname from him. “Why do Migardians need a dance teacher?”

 

“I sometimes wonder that myself.” You laughed, as you began to fill his bowl with rice. “Many people here like the structure of dance. It helps them relax, meet new people. Dances here come and go as the times change. And a lot of the older dances are forgotten, so you can’t learn it from someone that happens to know it that lives next door or at a club like it used to be. So, to learn a lot of the older dances, people come to dance teachers like me. And I go out of my way to learn old dances.”

 

You were startling to ladle the gumbo over the rice. “I enjoy it and it pays the bills, and the kids like it too.”

 

“I would very much like to see one of these dances. Would you be adverse to teaching me a dance?” 

 

If a look could melt your heart, that would be it. He was as eager as a child, his hands clasped in front of him, Mjolnir set down beside the table (that Clint built. You couldn’t look at it without thinking of him. Dammit.) 

 

You walked from the kitchen and set down the bowl in front of him, complete with a napkin and a spoon. “It would be my pleasure.”

 

His eyes brightened at the size of the bowl. Digging his spoon into it, he took a heaping mouthful, thankfully blew on it, and, as daintily as a giant man from Asgard could, took a bite. He chewed thoughtfully, before his eyes lit up again (real talk - Thor’s eyes were the text book example of “eyes are a window into the soul.”). He quickly took another bite - and then, his face started to turn a particularly bright shade of red around the cheeks. In those moments, you realized that you hadn’t brought him anything to drink. Dashing to the fridge, you came back with a pitcher of sun tea and two glasses. Thor reached for the pitcher, and _chugged_ it.

 

When half of the tea was done, he wiped the corners of his mouth on the napkin, before eyeing the bowl of gumbo again.

 

“You were not jesting when you said it was spicy!”

 

“No, I don’t tend to lie about things like that.” You couldn’t help but to smile. “Is it too spicy for you?”

 

“Nay, nay!” He said quickly - perhaps a little **_too_** quickly. “Some time is needed for adjustment.” He muffled a cough behind his hand; took another swig of tea. Then took another bite. Apparently much better prepared this time, he didn’t cough, and nodded.

 

“Tell me about this school,” he said, around a mouthful of gumbo. “and about this ‘South’ place.’ I wish to know more of what it means to be a mutant, and why it is humorous to listen to people from the South speak, when you speak the same language.”

 

And that’s really how the rest of the “lunch” went: you talking about the school, explaining what mutants were, explaining your powers. Once you got to your childhood, it turned into a full on story swap. You were enjoying yourself so much that you didn’t mind that Thor drank all of your sun tea, or all of the booze you had in the house (prompting you to make a quick liquor store run - which, he came with, and you guys ended up getting multiple bottles of mead for free. That was pretty awesome), or that he ate the entire pot of gumbo by himself. Thor was honest good company, and one, thankfully, with no strings attached.

 

It was over the dregs of the second to last bottle of mead that Steve came up. Like an idiot, you’d tried to match Thor drink for drink. And, for a little while, you felt like you’d done a good job. That was until you tried to stand up and the world swam around you. Before you could face plant into the couch, Thor caught you. Surrounded in his smell of ozone and rain, you sighed, and collapsed in his arms.

 

“This is like when I first met Steve,” you murmured into his arms. “Except he smells different.”

 

“Do I offend with my smell?” Thor hoisted you to your feet. You were tipsy, not drunk - and if you switched over to water, you’d be sober within an hour or so. You really needed to not drink around the Avengers, apparently. 

 

“No, no - it’s just that Steve smells like optimism and justice and bald eagles. You smell like a raincloud. Which is pretty awesome.” Your hands on his biceps, you steadied yourself. His bare arms were smooth and firm beneath your fingers, and you resisted the urge to caress the muscles.

 

“What would these things smell like?” He pulled away so that your hands were in his. Thor was just so **_big_** compared to you. You placed your palms against his. As if reading your mind, he straightened out his hands, and, the two of you stood, palms to palms, fingers against fingers. Touching him was electric - the hairs on your arms raised, and your bones pleasantly buzzed beneath your skin. You let his ozone smell and power ripple through you.

 

“I don’t know,” you finally said, distinctly aware of the whorls of his fingertips. “Like something heroic.”

 

“And do I smell ‘heroic’?” There was no hint of mockery in his voice - an amused curiosity, yes, but no mockery. You felt your cheeks grow warm, matching the feeling in your chest. 

 

“You do. In your own way,” you added. He smiled at you then, the expression illuminating his eyes. Blue like Steve’s, but colder. Sharper. Why people thought Thor was dumb, you’d never get it. You’d had the same thought before, and you figured every time you’d looked into his eyes, you’d have it again. 

 

He laced his fingers through yours. Still at arm’s length, you looked down at your bare feet. He gave your fingers a squeeze, and then, slowly and gently, let go.

 

“You are troubled, Sugarbee,” he said it more of a statement than a question. 

 

You gave him a lopsided grin. “Speaking of heroics,” you said, flopping down on the couch. Thor stood, looking down at you. “I just don’t have the courage to see something through. I’ve been putting it off for a while, and I’m not sure how I feel about the whole thing.”

 

“You speak of matters of the heart, then?” He now sat down beside you, settling in delicately. The couch barely creaked under the additional weight. He was facing you - well, as much as he could maneuver himself on the now tiny couch. 

 

“Something like that,” you muttered, feeling suddenly bashful. After all, you barely knew Thor, and plus, wouldn’t it be weird talking about his teammates behind their backs? Tony didn’t count; he was a gossip monger. And it’s not like you’d talked to Tony about any of this anyway.

 

“Well,” and Thor clapped a giant hand on your shoulder, “Trust yourself. You know what is best.” He looked as if he was going to say more, but stopped himself. “I am not very good at these kind of talks. Perhaps my brother Fandral would be better suited to these things. But, alas, he is on Asgard.” His expression brightened. “But if you’d like, I will bring it to his attention the next time I am home?”

 

“Um…no, I think I can handle this one.” You nudged his shoulder with your own. “But thank you.”

 

And that was the truth. You could handle it.

 

A few hours later, after Thor had left, and the dishes were drying in the rack on the counter, you picked up your phone. Took a deep breath. And dialed.

 

“Hey, Steve…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT?!
> 
> Because you know that's not the end. 
> 
> But we are winding down - there's like 2-3 parts left. :o
> 
> Chapter titles / Section title is from "Street Life", sung by Randy Crawford.


End file.
